


What Makes Angels?

by Caellen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt Kageyama Tobio, Hurt Oikawa Tooru, Hurt Sugawara Koushi, Hurt Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kageyama Tobio-centric, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25907008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caellen/pseuds/Caellen
Summary: They were silent, but they sang.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95
Collections: Haikyuu!! Fics





	What Makes Angels?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystorius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystorius/gifts).
  * Inspired by ["Are you an angel?"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675438) by [Mystorius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystorius/pseuds/Mystorius). 



> This is the first time I ever wrote a fanfic... I don't find my writing very good, but I'm grateful that you're giving this a chance. Please read the tags carefully.

My mother’s eyes were azure. An azure as light as the sky. My childhood was spent listening to her airy songs behind the tosses of volleyballs in the gym. Then Grandfather fell ill. The hospital rooms were white. Plain white walls, with white tile flooring, with white lights, with the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. It was as far from the gym as it could be. 

Days passed. 

Grandfather became as empty as that room. 

Sister left shortly after. “To Tokyo,” she said. “For work.”

What once was five people walking to the gym together became three. 

It was an accident at first. A tiny cut made from a slip of hand while I was helping cook. The red droplet welled up on my index finger, and I was enraptured. “ _It hurts_ ,” I remember thinking. But it was beautiful too. 

It was after an incident at school that I attempted it intentionally. I was never good at talking or making friends. I remember feeling hopeless. So that’s why the moment I went home, I used a box cutter and trailed thin lines across my fingertips. I deserved it. Mom came home to see my band-aid wrapped fingers. She didn’t mention anything at dinner with Dad, and so that day slipped out of my mind. Life at school continued as normal and for a while, I forgot all about that incident. 

A week or two after, it came back. I remember the day well. It was bright, but the sun wasn’t harsh. The sky was blue, but not cloudless. The air was still and felt somewhat cool. It was peacefully quiet. Her voice fit right in with that day. It was during a walk back from the gym with her—a day when Dad was at work—when Mom had spoken. 

“Tobio, I’m going to tell you something very important, okay?” She said, as her thumb rubbed the back of our clasped hands. “People who have cuts are Angels.”

My fingers twitched. A twinge of guilt shot through me as my face twisted into a grimace. “Angels hurt themselves, because life here is too painful. The world hurts them,” She murmurs, “They don’t like it here, so they try to go back to heaven.”

Her voice was wistful. I looked up at her and it was like a wall broke down. My mother had soft pale skin like clouds and eyes like the sky. Her hair hit the light to gleam indigo and I— I had a revelation. _She’s an Angel._ I grasped her fingers, turning her wrist, and right there in neat rows lay lines as silvery as halos. _We’re Angels._

It was during my last year of middle school that Mom left and went back home to Heaven. She looked soft, her face fallen into a gentle smile. The flowers made her look ethereal. I don’t recall what my exact feeling or expression was after seeing her in the coffin. I might have...No, I must have done something strange. Dad had gripped my hand, and I looked up to see stormy eyes. It was after that that he started hitting me, and it was after _that_ that white ribbons became stained crimson bandages instead. 

Our house became one of two people when it used to be three.

It was during that period that everything worsened. I couldn’t remember my mother’s words—her soft blues had disappeared. The halls were dark without her bright laughs and dull without her light singing. Father’s lips were merlot under the dim light, the amber from the whiskey cast across his form. The hall echoed his harsh sobs. My feet bled from the broken glass of his empty bottles. My cuts grew—past fingertips to arms, a collection of jagged red on my upper thighs— but the ones on my wrists were like Mom’s. 

My eyes were darker than hers. My face was structured more like Father’s. But my skin was pale and soft, and the way the light hit those silver lines on her wrists that day was ingrained in my mind. Higher up on my forearm were deep ruby scars. The small cuts on my wrists stayed light. I’d fall asleep caressing them. 

My dreams became filled with images of Mom. She would be spinning around in fields of daisies with her halo of silver shining against her hair. Stars would gleam in the corner of her eyes. She would sing high and light arias, her laughter like a melody of its own. If I woke up to a quiet room—the beeping of the alarm clock not unlike the beep of Grandfather’s heart monitor—with wet eyes and an emptiness in my chest, there was no one to care. 

Going to Karasuno, I didn’t expect anything to change. I played volleyball as always. I went home to desolate rooms. Father would hardly come back. Back when he did, he would hold me too tight. He would take his hands and clutch my face. His breath would shudder. I would look into his eyes. 

He would choke me. 

I mentioned it, didn’t I? I don’t look much like my mom. But, even with my vision blurring from lack of oxygen, I could see it. My breathless gasp of “dad—” and my hands around his tense wrists—I must have seemed like her. Even with blurry eyes, I could see him crying. The tears would hit my face as his hands slacken. My vision would darken. I’d wake up, clean and bandaged carefully, in my cold room: His apology of painkillers and rice porridge resting upon the table. 

He stopped coming home after that. I think he knew that if he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to stop hurting me. But this is just my guess; I tend to be wrong. He’d drop by at times—during school—and he’d leave money on the table. He never lingered. The house became one of only me. 

In any case, I didn’t expect anything to change at Karasuno. But it did. The first instance was with Yamaguchi, it was a minor glimpse, but I saw the thin raised skin in the changing rooms after morning practice. That was the first time I saw an Angel among the people at school. 

The second time was with Suga. His enthusiasm had dimmed down shortly after Michimiya and Daichi started dating. Practice seemed quieter to me without his earnest encouragement. I had realized when I heard him crying alone long after practice had ended and everyone had left. It was only proven when he had waved to me goodbye a couple days after. His sleeve fell away just enough for those silver lines to glow under the sunset. 

It reminded me of Mom. His figure was similar. Alike in the way they were pretty in sunsets, alike in how their eyes shown while bathed in the pinks and oranges of light. It was Suga that reminded me of Mom’s songs. It was him that made me remember her voice. I rushed home to record myself humming her tunes before I could forget again.

If I fell asleep to those songs, no one could comment. 

The next time I had the suspicion was during a time I was walking home with groceries. I saw Suga and Oikawa walking together. Maybe it was the way the weather was almost the exact same as that day with Mom. I was a good distance away too, so I might have seen wrong. Their smiles seemed like her’s. They were soft and light and so fragile it hurt. I turned around and rushed home with adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was scary. I ran past gardens of morning glory, seeking only for my own house. It was after I shut the door behind me that I recognized why I felt scared. Their eyes seemed like Dad’s. 

Dad was always a bit broken after Mom died. He’d lock himself inside their room most of the time. And it really did make sense—Mom gave a lot of life to our home. I didn’t forget what Dad did to me; But I had accepted it. He may have beaten me. My feet might have been cut by the glass shards he left. But, between those shards and his eyes, Dad always seemed more dead. 

I had cried. Just a bit. Silent tears fell across my cheeks. I cut again that day, for being an unseen observer to all these Angels around me. 

I started spending day after day on the rooftop before practice. It was the closest I could get to the sky—the closest I could get to Mom and the other Angels in Heaven. On windy days, I tried singing Mom’s songs, like the breeze would carry them to her. I could never get them quite right. But on the many quiet days, I would talk. I mentioned my days, things that happened. Things that I regretted. I would pray for the world to be kinder to the Angels there. There was never a reply.

Yachi and Kiyoko began dating three weeks after that. Tanaka joined Yamaguchi and Suga as an Angel. His marks were on his upper thighs. Perhaps I felt connected to him… No, probably not. I have never felt… heartbroken in that sense. Still, I had slipped a melonpan into his locker in hopes it would help. 

It didn’t.

All three of them: Suga, Tanaka, and Yamaguchi grew farther away from the rest of the team. It only grew worse the moment Tsukishima announced he was dating Kuroo. Yamaguchi’s wrists got more cluttered with marks. He’d disappear from practice often. The rest of the team didn’t notice their withdrawal. Personally, I couldn’t understand—romance and love I mean—but seeing the three of them fade into the background of the team felt like it did when I was little. 

It felt like my family was leaving me again.

When I grasped that thought, I couldn’t stop staring. Yamaguchi must’ve seen my stricken expression, because he ran away. All three of them confronted me about it later that day. I had come down from the rooftop to go to practice—while thinking about getting some bluebells to give to Mom—when I was cornered in an empty corridor. “You can’t tell anyone about us.”

I never intended to tell anyone, though I supposed they must have panicked. I didn’t exactly understand why, but I respected their need for privacy enough. “It’s okay,” I replied while giving a half-hearted sort of shrug. “We can be Angels together.”

Suga looked taken aback, while Yamaguchi and Tanaka both expressed other faces of confusion. “What...do you mean by that?” He asks, brow furrowed in apparent perplexity. They have all backed a couple steps away by now.

I hum, thinking on the best way to answer. “A long time ago, my mom told me something she felt was very important.” I fiddled with my sleeves, shoving the cloth upwards. “She told me that people with marks are Angels.” My upper arms were bandaged, some of the blood blotching the white, but my forearms were bare. Suga gasped as they all drew closer to see. Tanaka hissed before glancing away from my array of damage. Both Suga and Yamaguchi hovered over one of my arms, looking up towards me with wet eyes.

I let my arms fall. “I can’t say what she said exactly, but these words stuck with me. She said that the world is painful.” I stumble over the words, trying to emulate her tone. “Angels don’t like it here.” My brow furrows as I struggle to get my point across. “Life down here is tough, so Angels try to go back to Heaven.” I look up into Suga’s damp eyes.

“People with marks are Angels, because they all wish to go to Heaven.”

Yamaguchi makes a choked off sound, as Tanaka wraps an arm around his back to support him. Suga’s shoulders are slumped. I readjust my sleeves so my arms are covered again. “I won’t mention this to anyone.” I declare. “We can be Angels together.”

There’s a soft sniffling sound, and I jolt back at their apparent grief. My face turns blank. Footsteps approach us, and I see Daichi rounding the corner. 

“There you all are, we were worried when all of you were late—” He pauses. His eyes flicker up to Suga’s face. “What happened?”

Suga despondently shakes his head side to side. Daichi’s eyes stray towards Tanaka who glances away, with Yamaguchi sagged into his arms. Finally, he looks at me.

“Kageyama, can you tell me what happened?”

I frown a bit, trying to come up with something valid to say, but just as I open my mouth, more people approach us.

“Oh, Daichi— You managed to find them!” Nishinoya exclaims, as he rushes toward us. “Anyways, what took you all so long—” He stops in his steps. The rest of the team come up behind him, as they take in the scene. Nishinoya and Tsukishima go off to Tanaka and Yamaguchi, while the rest of the team go around Suga, as they try to comfort them.

Hinata scrutinizes me as he stalks over. “Bakageyama...Did you make them cry?”

My fingers tense as my lips twitch into a grimace. I nod slowly. “I did.”

Daichi frowns while Hinata makes a noise of outrage. “You—You can’t just do that! They’re your teammates. We’re your teammates! You don’t just make them cry, Bakageyama!” Hinata shrieks while flapping his arms around. 

“You need to apologize.” Daichi states. My face drops as my bangs fall over the tops of my eyes. Under Hinata and Daichi’s persistent stare, I feel ashamed. 

Suga interjects. “Lay off. Kageyama didn’t do anything wrong.” His eyes are still somewhat wet, but he stands firm. “We didn’t mean to delay practice.” Suga goes and grabs my hand, tugging me away. “Let’s practice.” His grip is firm around my fingers, as I let myself be led to the gym. The rest follow, making some sort of uneven rhythm. I can almost feel their eyes digging into my skull.

Practice...was shaky at best. Everyone kept looking at me. It was clear that they were still distracted by what happened in the halls. I was almost grateful with how Tanaka, Yamaguchi, and Suga blocked their invasive gazes. The air was quite...heavy. When practice ended, I fled before I could get interrogated again. I had reached the school gate when I bumped into someone.

My eyes traced the curve of their hair, as it shifted to recognition. It was Oikawa, in his Aoba Johsai jersey. Before I even realize it, I have already wrapped my arms around him. “You’re an angel too, aren’t you?”

I released him as soon as I finished, already dashing ahead to get back home. I wipe the sweat off my brow. The sky is blue with clouds. The house is surrounded by blooming hydrangeas. Somehow it feels less empty than it used to be. I threw open the curtains inside, letting in the light. It had been a very long time since I liked being at home. 

My dreams start being taken to visions of being surrounded by the Angels around me. I wake up the next day—a Saturday—feeling...happy. Unimaginably so. I eat breakfast quickly, singing out random melodies as I clean the house. I water the flowers outside feeling free and light. I let my mind wander. 

Sometimes I imagine it: doing a jump serve and feeling the contact of the ball to my hand and how perfect it’d be—the light would catch my wrists and the cuts would gleam like silver halos—and there, watching me fly would be everyone cheering. A perfect hymn sung by a choir of Angels. It fills me with joy. 

I skim my fingers across the hydrangea petals. Standing in front of my house, I look. The pastel colored flowers and gauzy curtains flow with the breeze. The sun casts its light upon the doorway. The leaves rustle, accompanied by the tune of running water from the stream nearby. I step forward, again and again, until I’m in front of the door. 

I walk in.

_“I’m home.”_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Mystorius' fic, "Are you an angel?". The majority of the plot was taken from that, as well as a good amount of dialogue. I focused a ton more on adding symbolism and wrote it in Kageyama's point of view. I only used the first chapter of their work as a frame, and I'd like to say my thanks to them for posting their work.  
> For changes: I removed some events and reduced the romance emphasis purely because of my own personal direction. (I dashed a bit of myself into Kageyama, so I felt the changes would suit the narrative more.)  
> I'd appreciate any advice you would have regarding my writing, and please inform me if I missed any tags.  
> Thank you for your time.


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